


Every Day Is Another Tomorrow

by tielan



Series: SGA Reverseverse [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Community: sga_flashfic, Drama, Gen, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not what Teyla expected when she stepped through the wormhole to Atlantis: it's a whole lot better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day Is Another Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SGA Flashfic challenge: role reversal.

The dark grey arch of the Stargate looms over the organised mayhem taking place in the embarkation room of the SGC, women and men weaving in and out, in a confusing warp and weft of packing and loading, finding and arguing.

Teyla moves through it all, a single thread in the chaos with nothing to do, no-one to talk to. The die has been cast, her lot has been selected, and she leaves nothing and no-one behind here on Earth that will mourn her leaving.

She no longer speaks with her mother, her brother manages the Athos corporation without any need of the familial black sheep, she saw the notice of Kanaan’s remarriage two weeks ago, and she does not allow herself to think of the friends whose burned, blackened husks rest beneath a green sward and a white headstone in Arlington.

It’s been a lonely life down in Antarctica.

“Major Emmagan,” the crisp tones of her commanding officer, Colonel Weir, interrupt her thoughts. “If you’ve nothing else to do, please take your place with the other personnel ready for the journey. Dr. Mitchell will be addressing the expedition before we leave.” Green-ish eyes regard her with the polite cool that Teyla has become accustomed to in senior officers since her re-assignment from the Afghanista war.

She glances up at the control room, sees General Carter standing at the window looking out. Her eyes skim over the movement, and come to rest on Teyla with a touch of warmth before they narrow slightly, almost in challenge.

Teyla’s only return is a nod. She owes her re-assignment to the General; she’s extremely grateful for the transfer out of McMurdo, but she’s not sure about this ‘going to other planets’ thing. Until a month ago, she had no idea there even were other planets outside of Earth.

Now, she’s the bearer of a one-way ticket to another galaxy. ‘The gene-monkey of the expedition’ as Dr. Sheppard put it with a smirk before she gave him a look and he found something else to do - at least until he thought she was looking away, at which point, he started sneaking glances at her.

“Right,” Dr. Sheppard says now, looking up at the window to the control room, long-fingered hands resting lightly on lean hips as he gives General Carter the nod. “We’re ready to go.”

\--

The door closes behind them, sealing them out on the balcony that’s now hundreds of yards above the water’s surface, not thousands of yards below it. It also seals the rest of the expedition off from the cozening that’s about to take place.

He knows what’s coming.

Cameron would prefer an outright argument; but he’s worked in the diplomatic service long enough to know when a woman’s going to twist him around her little finger. “Major, we can’t risk more lives.”

Theoretically, he should work his way around to the topic; that’s the accepted and acceptable course of debate. Thankfully, Major Emmagan doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“More lives are already at risk,” she points out in a clear, cool voice. “Colonel Weir is the holder of a great deal of information about not only this expedition, but Earth. Her seizure by these...these Wraith is a risk to all of us, not just those who were taken.”

“Even if these Wraith come after us--”

“They will come after us,” the Major says, her eyes steady and intent. It’s a disconcerting look, one that prompts in Cameron an urge to bluster. “Ronon Dex has spoken of the Wraith to me - this is not an isolated incident but a pattern of behaviour. The Wraith come and cull, and they destroy those who develop the ability to challenge them. We have the ability to challenge them, Dr. Mitchell.”

“Then that’s all the more reason to dig in, to hold our defences and prepare,” Cameron points out. It’s a rational argument - purely rational. He doesn’t dare think of Colonel Weir and the others in the hands of an enemy; he has to think of the bigger picture.

“That’s all the more reason to go out and bring back our people,” says Major Emmagan, still calm and reasonable. Cameron would prefer passion to this deathly cool - he’s used to women who lose their tempers and rail at him in their native language before calming down and coming to the table to talk shop. This elegant practicality terrifies him on an emotive level, even if he finds himself admiring the nerve of her.

Unaware of his admiration, the Major continues, “It may not be today or tomorrow, perhaps not next week, but if we leave our people in the hands of the Wraith, we will find ourselves facing them - and they will be augmented by the inside knowledge they have gained from the Colonel. A small risk now will prevent a greater risk later.”

“You don’t even have a plan of action.”

“We have a Gate address - or will, once Sheppard finishes the permutations,” she says.

It’s at that moment that Cameron realises that he’s slipped into a retreat action - from outright forbidding the course of action, to making it dependant on having a working plan; manoeuvred there so cunningly that even he didn’t see the moment when she got him on the back foot.

He wonders: if she’d presented the option with more emotion, would he have been more capable of resisting it?

\--

Melena packs briskly, fluttering hands speaking her state of mind in a language Ronon knows how to decipher.

“You could stay.”

Blue eyes flash a fleeting glance from beneath red-gold lashes. “I miss the sky. It’s an intimidating place, Atlantis.”

“You were interested in their medicine.” For a while, he thought she’d stay in the city and study with the Earth medical people - the young doctor with the skin the colour of the darkest, finest clays in Pegasus, the little Asian woman who softly encourages people to talk about themselves. Then Tyre started making noises about going back to the land, about being self-reliant and free and _Satedan_.

Ronon thinks it would be better to be free of the Wraith than free of Atlantis and the people who live in it now. He held his tongue. He wasn’t going to challenge Tyre for leadership of their people - they’d lost their home, they’d rebuild. They always did.

“Dr. Ford has promised to visit regularly and consult on ailments among our people. He wants to know about local remedies - things that they need in Atlantis, but can’t get on Earth.”

“It’d be easier to stay here and consult.”

“With Dr. Ford, perhaps,” she says. “But I belong with our people.”

He catches her wrist as she leans over to pick up a vest from the bed beside him. “And I don’t?”

Melena retrieves her wrist, flustered. Her hands hover for a moment, before she comes to him, fitting herself snugly into the curve of his arms. “There’s more in you, Ronon. We all knew it, even as children. Even when we played the ‘chase me, catch me’ games, you were always the one who stopped and took a stand; and we followed your lead.”

“But you’re leaving now.”

Ronon’s always been different from the rest of their people; a longing in him that’s too strong to fight, too hard to explain. Sateda’s a strong people; they survive. Perhaps it’s not the way other cultures have chosen to live in Pegasus, but passive resistance has kept Sateda strong in the face of repeated Wraith cullings.

Other cultures haven’t been so resilient.

“You weren’t made to run forever, Ronon,” she says, and her fingers stroke his cheek. “Maybe someday, we’ll be able to take a stand, too.”

“But not today.” Her mouth’s so close to his. Close enough to touch, to taste, with the curves of her waist and hip under his hands.

“No.” Melena settles into his lap, her lips tickling the line of his jaw. “But I will miss you, Ronon.”

His fingers flex on her hips, sliding up under the edges of her vest as he turns his mouth into hers and smiles gruffly to hide the regret. “Promise?”

\--

The doors of the ZPM room hiss softly as they open, and John looks up from his laptop in surprise as Teyla wanders in.

“Hey.”

Her mouth curves, a brief easy smile that makes his heart bounce on its metaphorical toes. “Hello.” She takes the long way around the room, the small, trim figure circling the stand in which three ZPMs were made to sit - a full complement of the city’s power. It’s probably as much to avoid the cords strung out across the near side of the room as to survey the work he’s been doing on the power console. “How goes the work?”

“Pretty slowly,” he says, resting his elbows on either side of his laptop and running his hands through his hair. “Right now, we’re mostly trying to determine just how much power the ZPM gives us - what kinds of city functions we can start using - and whether we should. Look--”

She’s almost beside his workbench now, and he pulls up the database trace he and Evan ran earlier, pointing out the discoveries of interest. “With the added power, there’s not only increased database function; there’s a whole other layer of function to the city that we’ve never seen before.”

“Oh? Another layer of function such as...?”

“Haven’t found that out yet.” John feels defensive, although the only thing she does at his news is smile at him. He has this instinctive reaction to intelligent, beautiful women in close proximity - he falls in love with them. Unfortunately for John, thereafter, the situation tends to collapse like a white dwarf folding in on itself to become a black hole.

Which is why he’s not going to do it with Teyla Emmagan.

“So,” he says, “what’s your news?”

“You assume I have any.” She smiles her Mona Lisa smile - the one that says she’s got secrets that she’s not going to tell him.

He’d like to think that she’d traipse halfway across the city just to talk to him, but he’s not that egocentric. “Cam said he might have to go back to Earth for a while.”

“Not just him.” Her tone is distinctly displeased.

John grimaces as he types in a couple of lines of code that will hopefully parse some of the data coming back from the unknown regions of the Atlantis database. The Ancients layered their code like an onion; each time he peels back one layer, there’s another one gleaming up at him. “Well, I promise not to break the city while you’re gone.”

He looks up at her with a grin - hopefully an appealing one - and finds her regarding him with dry amusement and a lifted brow. “You won’t be able to,” she informs him, and now a hint of malice gleams in her eye. “Your presence has also been required.”

“Oh. Right.”

\--

“Interesting place you’ve got here,” he comments as they come out into ‘Atlantis’. A high ceiling arches overhead, and walls rise straight up from the ground to meet them. The colours and lighting aren’t like anything he’s seen before, but then, the Mekhays were dedicated to technology and weapons that could fight back against the Wraith, not art and architecture. “There’ve been rumours of a city of the Ancestors forever, of course. No truth that I’ve ever seen to them.”

“Until now,” says Colonel Emmagan dryly as the others in the party disperse, heading off to whatever it is that they do here.

“Until now,” Merdith agrees, turning in a tight circle to get all the details as fast as possible. That’s what you do when you’re on the run from the Wraith, a quick assessment of the situation and an equally swift decision.

His assessment is that Atlantis is well-maintained and well-guarded. The armed women and men along every corridor attest to that, their wary gazes taking in his well-worn appearance, watching his hands and his weapon as though expecting him to open fire.

He lets the tips of his fingers brush his weapon, watches one of the soldiers shift uneasily, and makes a little ‘hnh’ noise of amusement to himself.

Apparently, he’s not quite quiet enough to escape the notice of Colonel Emmagan.

“I would appreciate it if you would not tease our marines,” she says mildly as they climb the stairs to a balcony-like area. “At the least, you could restrict your entertainment to the appropriate channels. If you will be here a few days, there is a sparring area.”

“And somewhere to run? It’s just that I’m used to a lot of movement. I know I don’t look like much, but I really can keep going for days if necessary. Hopefully that won’t be required here, but, you never know. There’s no such thing as too cautious, after all.”

In answer, Emmagan flicks her fingers at the window to his left. Merdith glances out at green sea and blue sky and silver spire and whistles to himself. “Right. Plenty of places to run.”

“You will be assigned two personnel to assist you around the city.”

“You mean they’ll tail me to make sure I don’t get into trouble?” He’s never believed in anything but plain speaking.

Her mouth twitches, and her eyes soften and slant. “That is an alternative explanation,” she notes. “How good are you at getting into trouble?”

“Truthfully? Very. Of course,” Merdith says with justifiable pride, “I’m even better at getting out of it.”

Teyla Emmagan looks at him for a disbelieving moment, then laughs.

\--

The grey-blue arch of the Stargate looms over the quiet Gateroom as the wormhole closes down behind Teyla’s team. It’s a late return after a long day, and Teyla wants nothing more than a hot bath and her bed for a good eight hours.

Cameron comes out onto the balcony from his office. Sometimes she wonders if the man ever sleeps. “Welcome back. Nothing to report?”

“Other than the rain, the rain, and the rain, no.” Teyla adjusts her sodden cap on her sodden hair. If nothing else, it keeps it from dripping down her neck.

“I think we can leave the debriefing until tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Teyla tells him with heartfelt relief.

He grins down at her and the three other drowned rats that came through with her. “Go get cleaned up and checked out by Ford.”

“I have never been so wet in my life,” Merdith declares as they start down the corridor. “Okay, except for the time I spent five days on this planet where the rain didn’t stop. Poured like a giant bucket from heaven - a giant, bottomless bucket. Covered evidence of my coming and going from the Wraith, of course, although they still had the little tracking devices. I set up a rockslide to take two of them out. It’s all in the balance, you know.”

“We know,” says John, his voice emphatic and exasperated.

“Well, _you_ might,” Merdith says loftily, “since the whole mechanics and balance thing is your area, but I’m sure that no-one else does.”

“You pack the bigger boulders in the middle,” Teyla informs him as they start down the corridor to the armoury to divest themselves of their gear. “Mostly medium rocks beneath, mixed with small. Use the smallest sized ones on the top - you want the dust cloud to rise and obscure your escape.”

“But...but how...”

She smirks at his astonishment. The Afghanista mountains are mostly rock; she learned many things while tramping through its inhospitable canyons.

“Well, Ronon still doesn’t.”

“Never needed to learn,” says Ronon, unconcerned by his inferiority in this area. “But I can barter you food on eighty-seven worlds if you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Merdith reminds them. “Speaking of which, dinner, anyone?”

“In the mess hall, after we’ve cleaned up,” Teyla says as they reach the armoury and begin offloading their equipment.

Sergeant Heightmeyer arches a brow as she checks the equipment back in - the galaxies change, the bureaucracy stays the same - and Teyla flashes a brief smile of relief to be back in Atlantis with her team-mates.

It’s not what she expected when she stepped through the wormhole from Earth; it’s a whole lot better.


End file.
